Astral: Saga of Infinite Worlds
by PotterPhantomKitten
Summary: AU. There is a world where beings project themselves to a realm called "Earth". But when something goes wrong, 6 learns of a disturbance in the dividing barrier, and must go to worlds of myth and legends unknown to him to protect these worlds from chaos.


**A/N: I was originally gunna just make this a one-shot, then expand on it if people like it, but then the idea kept growing, so then I was like "This thing's so developed in my head that it can't be a one-shot!". This is actually quite a bit different from my other AU fics, as it takes things from a more spiritualistic/astral-projection/mythological-legend-worlds perspective... and partially inspired by the 9 forum's Pirate/Viking Name Day, as one character who appears later on is sort of a Viking, though it takes place around our time! So I guess I have to give Anna on the 9 forums credit for that! ;) Anyway, enjoy!**

Disclaimer: I am not Shane Acker, and thus I do not own 9.

Chapter 1: First Time

_"The word 'astral', from the Greek word meaning 'star', originally described the heavens of the Greek gods, but as time passed the concept expanded to refer to a spirit world inhabited by etheric entities, disembodied spirits, and higher beings"  
- Theresa Cheun, The Element Encyclopedia of Ghosts and Hauntings_

-

_Feeling._

That was the first sensation that came to him as he first entered that state of existence. Not sight, not hearing. Unless dark and silence counted as seeing and hearing. But the first sensation was touch.

Pulling. A firm tug.

Why did this feeling come? It wasn't supposed to come.

Whatever it was, the stitchpunk hated this feeling. Hated the tugging sensation that pulled on him. It seemed as if a part of him was in the place he knew he was, but another part of him was in this strange place. The world below. Not the far-under-realm where the souls of the bad went, but someplace closer.

The below-place that most called the Otherworld.

Why didn't it hurt the others? They went through this with such a calm demeanor, so why was this feeling plaguing him so strongly?

And then, along with the tug of the invisible force, the other senses followed.

Seeing things that he knew weren't really his sight. Blurred image of stitchpunks, others like him, but they were strange. Unclear images that appeared to be of stitchpunks piloting unusual machinery, falling into strange dust, large buildings with lights all over them. He saw creatures he had never seen in his 15 years of being in his realm. Ones that could live both on water and on land, some that could live in icy depths. And yet, more faintly, like faraway stars, he saw others, stranger ones. Elongated creatures with scaly skin, large and some with wings. Creatures that were half stitchpunkian and half something else. There were even things that almost seemed to come from the lower-realm itself. These visions were just adrift fragments in the blurred imagery. And yet, they rushed by him at a lightening-fast pace.

Hearing voices and sounds that he knew couldn't really be there. Some, he recognized, voices in the language he spoke, sounds he was familiar with. But most sounds were strange to him, dialects he could tell were stitchpunkian - for he knew there were others of his kind that lived in the Otherworld - but the words were unrecognizable. And the sounds, the noises that those strange contraptions and creatures made... they reached his thought-stream, or "Spectrum" as it was more commonly called, but he couldn't make out what they were precisely saying. The sounds came muddled... almost incomprehensible. There were words for this, always words. But they were words he did not know.

Feeling pain that he knew he shouldn't be feeling. It was as if he had entered the very minds of some of the Otherworlders, feeling their pain, taking it from them. Or perhaps it was worse, and they were giving him this pain. Pain that he knew there never had been, not in his realm. At least, not in his memory. Ground shaking that collapsed their structures, searing heat like traveling supernovae, falling into black seas of nothing. So many feelings... so much pain these others felt...

And there was still the pull... that jerking force that seemed to pull him in two different places at once. Tethering him to one place but pushing him onward to this Otherworld. And even there, at a midway point, there were small pulls in different directions. Faint, but there.

Why does it hurt? _the doll wondered to himself._ Why does it not hurt the others when I see them do this? _The others seemed to feel no pain, save for little twinges of their optics on rare occasions when times were bad._

The sensation was frightening for him. The feeling was pulling him in opposing directions and he loathed it. Why was this sight so clouded and these voices all muffled and pain hurting him when it was so calm for the others? Had something in the Otherworld turned all jumbled and crazy that caused it to be like this? He was scared... scared that something had gone wrong, sacred that the sight and hearing and pain that wasn't his would linger, scared that he would be stuck in this branching feeling forever, scared that-

In that tugging rush, 6 opened his eyes.

Savoring the quietness that he was used to, in this world without chaos. Silent for a moment, he turned his gaze up to the beige-skinned, golden-robed stitchpunk who stared down at him, light gold-rimmed optics showing concern. It was his mentor, 725, one of the dolls that he trusted most in his life, especially since the Vanishing that had occurred a year previous.

The Vanishing... he didn't want to think about that, not now. The striped doll stared at his guardian with confused eyes.

"Well?" 752 asked carefully, curious as to exactly what happened. He had noticed the distressed look in 6's optics the moment that he had "come back" from that state. It was a first-time thing, when one of their kind projected themselves into a connection with the Otherworld and was so startled that their form, to others, almost seemed to fade in and out for a few moments. As time passed, the connection grew stronger, and the projector could be seen almost fully there while a larger part of their consciousness was in fact in the Otherworld. There was always shock, but in 6's eyes he had seen a look that signified a deeper feeling that was quite unusual.

6 winced at the memory, struggling to catch his breath. "It hurt," he admitted as he sat down in a chair of the circular schoolroom, feet hovering over the floor a little, "and I couldn't get the word for what it was."

The elder could understand that. The first-time was different for all those who tried it. Sometimes they got the word for it, sometimes they didn't. It was a bit of a surprise for younger ones who had seen older siblings do it, the younger ones always questioning the name of this ritualistic practice that many of their realm were capable of preforming. But it was meant to be kept a secret until they themselves would go through it.

"Astral projection," 752 said, placing his worn-down copper hand on 6's shoulder. "It always hurts a little the first time."

6 frowned and shook his head rapidly, trying to keep his anxiety and confusion concealed. "I don't understand. I've seen you do it and it doesn't hurt for you. You appear more faint but you aren't hurt. Why was my vision so unclear and the voices all muddled and pain through me where pain shouldn't be? Why was it like that?"

752 was silent, unsure of what to say. He knew that astral projection was uncomfortable upon first-doing, but what 6 had described was a problem he had never faced before. And for him in his 130th year of being - reasonably old for one of their realm - that was saying a lot.

"Otherworld hurts," 6 sighed, shivering a little as he placed his head in his hands.

"Don't blame it on the Otherworld, 6," 752 started to say, but the striped doll interrupted him.

"Otherworld causes pain," 6 said to his guardian desperately. "You remember what the Otherworld did a year ago! Otherworld took my old parents and others from me with its chaos and wisp-shakes and now when I did that astral-thing all there was was murkiness and pain and-" 6 abruptly stopped talking and looked 752 straight in the optics. "It hurts. Like the Vanishing."

The expression in 725's optics softened a little. He remembered the Vanishing as clearly as 6 did. There had been a kind of disturbance in their realm, almost like a shifting in Ether - the dividing line that kept their world and the Otherworld apart. They should have realized it when the wisp-shakes started - fragile membranes like fog yet not fog, beginning to appear in the atmosphere, bringing a small tremor with them. Then it was almost as if there was a rip - these small wisps began to come like jagged tears, encircling several people in their realm. 6 parents and eight others he was close to were among them.

And then they vanished. Just like that. The tearing stopped, the wisps were gone. But some of their own had disappeared.

Since then, 725 - the oldest of the Council but a good friend of 6's parents - had taken care of the striped doll. And while 6 had grown very fond of 725, he had also become resentful of the Otherworld.

And now, slightly fearful of it.

6 sighed and stared out one of the schoolroom's many windows, gazing upward at the close stars. The teen was thankful that it was a Night of Saturn, and not a Night of Moon where he would be in this room accompanied by a bunch of his classmates. They would have questioned of his first-time, and he would have been too afraid to talk about it. He wanted to just focus on at least one star, and project himself through a different tactic of Spectrum. He just wanted to use astral-sight to stare at a part of the universe and lose himself in it. But as much as he wanted to, 6 had too much on his mind for that now.

725 could see that uncertainty wavering in 6's optics. "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"Huh?"

"With your astral projection." His eyes held a kindly expression, a look that was encouraging to 6. "I've never heard of anyone experiencing that before... not during the first travel, anyway."

6 frowned for a moment, his brow furrowed. He was a little hesitant to talk about what happened. It had been so frightening.

_But the Council members have seen a lot,_ the doll reminded himself. _They'll probably understand it._ 6 glanced at 725 and nodded. "Okay."

The two were silent for a minute.

"725?"

"Yes, 6?"

"Do you remember what they call it? Those who live in the Otherworld... you once said they call it something different."

The elder nodded. "You are correct."

"What do they call it again?"

725 smiled slightly, glancing over at an elaborate tapestry of the Otherworld. Staring deeply at its blue water, rising land masses, and white clouds drifting over it. A few small metallic contraptions could be seen hovering over the Otherworld, so close that he sometimes believed that he could almost reach through Ether and touch them. It was almost a pity that the stitchpunks down there lacked astral-sight.

"They call it 'Earth'."

**-**

A/N: Whew, done Chapter 1! Like I said, I have to give Anna some credit for this, as since we had that Pirate/Viking name day I started learning about the Nine Worlds of Norse Mythology, then I had the idea to include other mythic things, and BOOM, this fic idea came up! I can't remember exactly why I started writing this, I think it was because of my astral-plane-supernatural interest! As for 725, I see him as akin to Monk Gyatso from Avatar: the Last Airbender, as both of them are older members of their community but are still great guardians for the ones whom they mentor (6 and Aang, respectively)! Hope ya liked Chapter 1!


End file.
